


Soccer Dads

by Ceilidh (ChaseAwayMyFears)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Flangst?, M/M, lots of soccer dad moments, there is a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:38:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2066703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaseAwayMyFears/pseuds/Ceilidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Gavin are soccer dads. Bizarrely, this brings them closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soccer Dads

**Author's Note:**

> The title sucks, I know. I wrote this based on a prompt: How does a mavin fic with them becoming soccer dads sound? They could just be cheering super loud at their kid’s (or kids’) matches, and being super awesome dads. 
> 
> Prompt from fanaticalforsupernatural on tumblr.

“Go on, son! Yes, Andrew! Andy, the goal’s yours!”

“Shut up, papa!”

Michael laughed as he watched his son kick the ball right into the goal. Michael stood with all the other parents, cheering and shouting for their children.

Half time was called and Andrew ran over the his father.

“Hello, papa.”

“How are you doing, champ?” Michael grinned, handing his son a well-deserved drink.

“Well, we’re down two-to-four so...” His son glanced over at his shoulder to look at something. “David’s papa still isn’t here, so he’s not playing well. He never plays well when his papa isn’t here.”

“Who’s David?”

“You know—”

“David’s my son!” someone panted from behind Michael. “Hello, Andy.”

“Mister Free! Oh, you’ve saved the game, you have!” The whistle blew for the second half to commence. “Oh, gotta go! Bye papa, Mister Free!”

“Kick their ass, son!” Michael shouted as his son ran down the pitch. A woman sat in front of him turned and scowled, tutting at his language. “Eh, turn around you old bat.” With an offended huff, she did.

Someone was laughing next to him, their silent giggles making the bench rattle.

Michael turned to frown at them.

“So you’re… Mister Free?”

“Yeah, I’m David’s dad. Gavin.” He held out his hand. Michael raised a brow before taking it.

“Michael.”

“Right. So, they’re gonna win, right?”

It took Gavin elbowing him in the ribs before Michael realised he’d been asked a question.

“Sorry?”

“The boys. They’re gonna win?”

“Oh, yeah, of course they are. Andrew’s a fuck- uh, he’s a champ.”

Gavin grinned. “Yeah, I’ve heard that.”

“Oh?”

Gavin was watching the game intently, tracking his son across the pitch, practically vibrating with excitement; he was like a ten-year-old himself.

“Mm. David’s constantly harping on about Andy Jones-Tuggey. ‘He’s so great! I wish I could play like him, dad! He’s super cool, dad.’ Half the time it’s all he ever talks about. You’ve got a good role model, there, mate.”

Michael blinked a few times, trying to get over Gavin’s accent. “Right. Yeah, he takes after his mother.”

“She must be a top woman,” Gavin grinned, looking at Michael, but it slipped when Michael frowned.

“She was, yeah.”

“Oh, oh god, I’m sorry. I’m such a smeg sometimes. I didn’t realise. Sorry, Michael.”

“It was a long time ago. It’s fine. I’m not talking about it to a stranger.”

“Right. So, uh, David and I usually go out for ice cream – usually as an apology on my behalf – after the match. You and Andy are welcome to join us, if you like.”

Michael didn’t get a chance to answer as half the parents started cheering and shouting; Andrew had scored another goal. With ten minutes on the clock, his pending victory looked strong.

Gavin punched the air, barely missing Michael’s head in the process. Michael didn’t care; his son’s score had pulled him from his inner darkness after Gavin’s questioning.

He jumped up when Gavin pulled on his shoulder, and cheered for his son. He was running around the pitch, slapping hands with his own, celebrating as if they’d won the match for real. _Two more and you will have, son._

“He’s a great player!” Gavin laughed, throwing a thumbs up at his own son before sitting back down.

“Yeah, he is. He’s a great kid.”

“You must be close.” Michael looked at Gavin sharply, but he was met with a small, sympathetic smile. Michael hated it.

“He’s my son,” he said coldly. “Why wouldn’t we be fucking close?”

Gavin’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant… well, David and I, we’re close, sure, but he much prefers his mother.”

“Andy said he doesn’t play well when you’re not here supporting him; that’s gotta mean something.”

Gavin seemed to contemplate that as Andy’s team scored another goal.

“It means everything, but we’re not as close as you and Andy have to be, I suppose. Your son loves you more than mine does me.”

Michael snorted; he couldn’t help it. It sounded ridiculous. “Now you’re just talking shit.”

Gavin just shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter. Anyway—ah! They scored! They’ve won!” Gavin started squawking incomprehensible things in his excitement, and threw himself at Michael, enveloping him in a celebratory hug. Michael just froze, barely able to hold onto the other man and keep their balance at the same time.

When he managed to extricate himself from the big child, he found himself being pulled down the bleachers by his hand, and met by their children at the edge of the pitch.

“Hey! Congratulations, guy! You guys were tippers out there!” Gavin grinned proudly.

“Thanks, Mister Free! Papa!”

“You did good out there. You definitely kicked their ass.”

“Dad, why are you and Andy’s dad holding hands?” David said suddenly. He looked expectantly at his father, and Michael thought he saw a smidge of hope in those green eyes.

_Hang on a minute…_

Michael looked down at their joined hands and frowned. He had _forgotten._ He had felt so comfortable with this stranger that he had forgotten he was holding his hand. _What the fuck._

“We’re not, see?” Gavin showed his son his now free left hand, and then gently whacked his son around of the back of the head, making him laugh. “Get moving, you.”

Nobody moved. They all seemed to be looking at Michael expectantly.

“What?”

“Are you coming?”

“Again, what?”

“Ice cream, you dope!”

“Come on, papa, can we? Please?”

Michael looked from his son’s pleading, to David’s hopeful smile, to his father’s even brighter grin.

He had to cave.

“Go on then, if we’re bloody going.”

The two boys cheered and ran off towards the parking lot.

*

“So, where’s David’s mother?”

They were sat on a picnic bench opposite each other, both holding stupidly large ice cream cones, watching their children having fun in the nearby playground.

Gavin started choking on air, it seemed, but when Michael moved to help him, he held up a hand and managed to start breathing again.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Michael frowned. “Forget it.”

“Aw, come on, Michael—” _why does he have to say my name like that?_ “What did you say?”

“David’s mother. Where is she?” It came out much too sharp, he knew, but this man already had a knack for getting under his skin with the smallest things, and he’d only known him an hour.

Gavin’s perpetual excitement seemed to fizzle and fade. He didn’t look sad, just… disappointed.

“She’s back in England.”

“Oh. Is she out there for work?”

Gavin frowned. “No. She’s back _home._ It’s just David and me now.”

“She’s not…?” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t ask if someone else’s wife was dead. He couldn’t cope with his own deceased love; he didn’t need Gavin’s on top of his own.

Gavin smiled bitterly then; it looked wrong on his face, his features dark and twisted. Michael found he much preferred his careless grin.

“No, though sometimes I wish she bloody was.” He looked disgusted at himself for saying such a thing. “Please don’t say anything to David. He wishes he was back there. He hates it here.”

Michael looked over at their sons laughing and chasing one another, having the time of their young lives. He felt his wife’s presence the strongest when he was watching Andrew from afar. They were so alike; both kind-hearted, both excitable and strong-willed and determined to do the absolute best they can.

Michael turned back to Gavin. “You don’t wish she was dead. Believe me, you don’t mean that.”

Gavin sighed and placed his hand over Michael’s in a comforting gesture. It made Michael feel a little uneasy, and there was a small tug of guilt in his heart – he’d promised Lindsay he’d never get close to anyone, that he’d never let her go, that he’d always love her – but he didn’t move away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Of course I don’t wish her dead, I just… I hate how she could leave her son. I hate that she let us leave. And I hate that we left.”

“Why did you?”

Gavin smiled and licked melting ice cream from his fingers, looking at Michael all the while. Michael stomach twisted and he frowned.

Gavin straightened up and sighed. “That’s a story for another time, Michael.”

 _Mi-cool._ The way it rolled off the man’s tongue wasn’t graceful in the least, but he was slowly getting used to it.

They ate in silence for a while, just watching their children, swimming in their own thoughts. Gavin’s hand was still holding Michael’s, and somewhere over the past twenty minutes, Michael had turned his over they he was also holding Gavin’s.

“It’s more comfortable like this. Fuck off,” he’d snapped when Gavin grinned at him.

“I could just let go.”

For some reason, Michael absolutely did not want that, and he held on tighter. Gavin giggled.

“Dad! Dad? Can Andy sleep over tonight?”

Gavin smirked at Michael and then looked at his son. “What have I told you about giving me prior notice about these things?”

“Dad, you’ve never said anything about it. I’ve never asked before.”

“Well, that’s all right then. Of course he can, if it’s okay with you, Michael?”

“Hmm?” Michael looked up from his cold, empty hand. _Michael, you’re being fucking pathetic; stop._ “Oh, right, uh, is that what you want Andrew?” His son nodded vigorously. Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. “All right, then. I guess I don’t have a choice. Thank Gavin.”

“Thank you, Gavin! Uh, Mister Free.”

Gavin chuckled. “No problem, kiddo. You ready to go, then?”

That’s how the next few weeks went. Gavin and Michael would meet up at the soccer match, spend the hour bickering and bantering with each other and cheering for their son’s. Then they’d all go for ice cream and retire to one of their houses. The boys would do whatever it was ten-year-old boys did, and the adults would have a beer and play video games, if they felt like it, or just talk. Sometimes they’d just sit in companionable silence. Gavin had a tendency to curl into Michael’s side on the couch as they watched a stupid movie or documentary or whatever shit was on TV.

Michael didn’t mind. He’d quickly grown used to a clingy Gavin. It felt nice, actually. But when things started getting too comfortable, his promise to Lindsay would rear its head and he’d have to excuse himself to get another drink or use the bathroom, anything to put space between them.

Around two months after that first afternoon, Michael received a text from his British friend.

_Hey could you take D to practice today? I’m not well. Feel free to come round afterwards. See you soon x_

Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at the clock. It was two o’ clock.

“Fucking bollocks. Gavin, you complete arse.”

_Sure. See you soon x_

When Michael started adding kisses at the end of his messages, he doesn’t know. Gavin had always done it, so it was no longer strange (Michael may or may not have had a go the first few times they’d exchanged texts, though) but it wasn’t his thing. Except now it was apparently _their_ thing.

Michael sighed and dragged himself into the shower sleepily. He hadn’t slept in this late since his teens. He felt groggy and horrible.

Half an hour later, after apologising to a hysterically-laughing Andy for sleeping in (though he didn’t care – he had run of the whole house) they were stood outside of Gavin’s apartment.

David opened the door with a grin, inviting them in. “I’m nearly ready! I’ve just gotta find my smegging boots.”

Michael raised a brow and went through into the living room. Gavin was curled up on the sofa, cup of steaming coffee in hand and a cold press against his head.

“Michael,” he griped, frowning dramatically. “I’m ill, Michael.”

Michael smirked. “You look like shit, you know.”

“Michael!” Gavin squeaked, and then winced.

“Actually, you look hungover.”

“I’m not, I swear. I just have this blasted migraine. You don’t mind taking him, do you? I just don’t think I could cope with load of shouting parents and kids today.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Get some rest. I’ll be back later.” He patted Gavin leg and stood up, calling for the kids.

*

They were getting destroyed. They were down by six with only ten minutes on the clock. Michael had a bad feeling Andy wouldn’t be able to pull it out of the bag this time.

He watched as Andy kicked the ball to David, who kicked it back to Andrew, who tried to shoot and score but the ball rebounded off the goal post. Michael groaned with the rest of the parents.

Andrew actually stomped his foot in annoyance.

When, a few minutes later, they did score, Michael jumped up and cheered so enthusiastically, he suddenly missed Gavin by his side. _You’re being stupid. How would Lindsay react if she knew what you were thinking?_

Michael swallowed and sat back down. The last five minutes of practice felt like an eternity.

He took the boys for ice cream and picked up some soup for Gavin. He knew it wouldn’t help the migraine, but it was better than ice cream.

When Gavin opened the door, his face lit up.

“Hey, guys! How’d it go?”

David shrugged. “Practice was all right but we lost.” He didn’t seem to disheartened about it.

The boys went into David’s room and Michael followed Gavin into the living room.

The room was a mess. There were multiple cups littering the coffee table and floor, and a half packet of chips dumped on the floor.

“Sorry,” Gavin said, his sheepish grin firmly in place. Michael couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re a mess. How’s your head.”

“Mm, sore. Is that for me?” He pointed at the cup of soup,

Michael handed it over and watched as Gavin sipped at it tentatively.

“Did David tell you I liked chicken?”

“Uh, no. I just, uh… picked my favourite, actually.”

Gavin’s grin widened. “You have good taste. Thank you.”

Michael just nodded and reclined on the couch, closing his eyes. He’d only woken up a few hours ago but he was tired.

It was gone seven when the boys came out complaining they were hungry.

Gavin ended up ordering pizza, demolishing half of one all by himself.

“I thought you were sick?” Michael smirked.

“A headache doesn’t prevent me from eating, silly.”

The boys had taken their food into their room as usual, leaving Michael and Gavin alone in the living room. It was different, though. Gavin was sat further away than usual, and was much quieter.

“Hey, are you okay?” Michael nudged him with his elbow. He’d never seen Gavin look so… weary before.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, of course.” Gavin’s smile was full, but lacking something.

“Okay. I’m gonna get another drink, you want one?”

Three bottles of beer later, things were a bit hazy.

“Oh, man, I’m never going to be able to drive home.”

“So stay.”

_So stay. So stay. Stay. Stay with me. I want you to stay with me. Michael._

“Michael?” Gavin looked up from where he was, as usual, curled into Michael’s side. Michael had his arm around the man’s shoulders, holding him to him, so Gavin had felt it when Michael tensed up.

“Gavin,” he said softly, though he didn’t mean to say anything at all.

“You can just sleep on the sofa. Or I can. You can’t drive like this anyway.”

Michael shook his head minutely. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” His voce wavered and Gavin frowned up at him, but he just smirked. “It’s like our own little sleepover.”

Gavin chucked and pinched his ribs. When Michael squirmed, Gavin grinned darkly. Michael swallowed hard, grinning sheepishly.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But Michael…”

“Gavin, no.”

“My little Michael’s ticklish, isn’t he?”

“Do be absurd.”

Gavin jabbed him in the ribs again, then again and Michael squirmed and wriggled, trying to push Gavin’s hands away, laughing. He felt like a complete child but he was borderline drunk and it felt nice just to let go for once.

Gavin’s hands drifted, still tickling, from his ribs to his hips, over his stomach, back to his hips. Michael tried leaning away, pushing himself down the couch, trying to escape.

“Gavin, please! Gavin!” Michael was laughing too hard to sound angry. He was panting, laughing, hiding his face in Gavin’s shoulder, trying to curl into a ball on his back, but Gavin was stretched over him, his infernal fingers stroking his nerves into a mess.

And then all of a sudden, Gavin stopped. Michael was still hiding in Gavin’s neck, panting from laughing so hard.

“Michael,” Gavin whispered in his ear.

Slowly, he pulled his face away and met Gavin’s gaze. He was flushed, eyes bright, breathing heavily himself. He placed his hands flat on Michael’s chest and leaned onto them.

They stared at each other, realising how close they were to each other.

“Michael,” Gavin sighed, and then they were kissing.

It was barely a brush of the lips over and over but it was soft and wet and warm and everything Michael hadn’t realised he’d wanted.

Michael clutched onto Gavin’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Gavin gripped onto Michael’s shirt, kissed him gently, over and over, like he was about to fade away, Michael thought, like this was the last time this could happen.

And Michael knew it was.

Fucking damn it.

“Gavin,” he whispered, pushing gently against Gavin’s shoulders now, instead of pulling. “Gavin, please.”

Gavin lifted his head and the pain in his eyes was like a stab to the heart. _When did I come to care so much for this man?_

“Gavin, I’m sorry, but I cant. I just… god I can’t do this.”

Gavin let him sit up, but wouldn’t let him leave. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

“I promised her, Gav. I promised her I’d always love her, that I wouldn’t love anyone else, that I’d never let her go.”

“That’s ridiculous. She’s _gone,_ Michael. She’s dead.”

Michael glared at Gavin then. “Yes, thank you for fucking reminding me. I’m very much aware of that!”

“You can’t let her hold you back. How long has it been?” Gavin asked softly.

“Six years. Six long years.”

“She wouldn’t want you to be alone. She would want you to be happy. And if that’s not with me, then I’ll get over it. If you’re not into this, you’ll find a nice woman. If you are, and I’m not it, you’ll find a great person.”

“Gav, that’s not it. You _are_ a great person. Fuck, you’re an amazing father, a brilliant friend, and I want…” Michael dragged a hand through his hair harshly; a few strands of copper clung to his fingers when he balled it into a fist.

“You need to let go. You can’t hold on to her forever. You won’t forget her if you do, she won’t mean any less to you. But you need to be happy; she’d want that, I know it.”

“Fucking hell, Gavin, why do you have to be so rational in times like these? All I want is to fucking kiss you and hold you and … _love you._ But I don’t know if I can just let her go. I still love her. I always will.”

“I know, but you need to try. You can’t love a ghost. She’ll always mean something to you, but she can’t love you anymore. You need to do this for you.”

Michael sighed and mashed his fists into his eyes. Gavin rubbed his back gently, just sitting there with him. Michael knew he was right on all accounts. He had to let Lindsay go. He had to forget her, or at least remember that she’s not there anymore. She never would be.

But he had the chance at being happy. For the first time in years, he could be truly happy. But it was a big risk.

 _Michael,_ said a voice in his head that sounded very much like his beautiful, dead wife. _Michael, you need to do this. Be happy, Michael. Be happy with this man. You deserve him. Let me go, Michael._

Michael sighed heavily and leaned against Gavin, curling into his side as Gavin so often did to him.

*

“Go on, son! Take them down!”

“Go on, go on, go on! Yes!”

Andrew and David had both scored two goals, putting them one ahead of the other team.

“I told you they’d win, didn’t I?”

“Shut up, they’ve not won yet. Don’t jinx them, you asshole.”

Michael and Gavin sat on the edge of their bench, pressed tightly together from shoulder to thigh to keep in the warm. Their gloved hands were entwined and they were grinning, watching their children running around a pitch in the freezing cold.

Gavin kissed Michael on his cheek, laughing. “Sorry, my little Michael. I love you, I do.”

“I know. I do, too. I’m fantastic.”

Gavin grinned at Michael’s smirk. They cheered again as Andy and David’s team scored once more.

Michael’s smirk grew as an idea formed in his head.

“They can meet us at the car, right?”

Gavin frowned, confused until he felt a hand on his arse.

“Oh!” he squeaked quietly. He looked out to their children. “Well, they seem to be doing well enough for themselves. They’ll be fine.”

Michael grinned.

Gavin had been right and he’d been wrong; he’d needed to let go, and he needed to be happy, and he was. And that first kiss certainly wasn’t the last.

They had many soccer matches to come, and even if every one was lost, Michael still felt victorious. Though he’d lost his first love, he’d gained a fantastic second, and a glorious pseudo-step-son, too.

What more could a man ask for?

“Not to have a pair of soccer boots under my back would be a start.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. It's a little different from what I usually write (I've never really written domestic fics before) but it was super fun.


End file.
